


Tidings of Unrest

by AVMabs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Christmas Party, Chronic Pain, F/M, Family, Gen, Gift Giving, ed level cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVMabs/pseuds/AVMabs
Summary: Ed celebrates Yule for the first time in years, and his automail has something to say about it.





	Tidings of Unrest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AutisticMystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticMystic/gifts).



> happy holidays, dante!

Ed steps up to threshold of the old Resembool cottage with a heavy sigh.  The train had been an older one, without cushioning on the seats or a decent trolley.  He’s tired, hungry and sore.  Even so, he plasters a grin onto his face as he raises his fist.  The door swings open before he has a chance to knock, and he blinks.

“Hi, Al,” he says.

“Brother!” says Al.  “It’s so good to see you – I have so much to tell you!”

Ed rubs the back of his head.  “Give me ten minutes, and then you can say as much as you want.”

Al steps aside to let him in.  “Sure,” he says.  “You look like you had a long journey.”  He tries to take Ed’s suitcase, and Ed holds it closer to him with a pointed look at his brother.  Al might be able to lift Farmer Inman’s hay bales now, but he’s not carrying Ed’s suitcase for him, if Ed has anything to say about it.

“Seats were pretty rough,” says Ed, then sniffs the air.  “Winry baking something?”  If she is, it isn’t apple pie.  It’s rounder than that, the spices warmer and more settled.

“There’s a play at the school to celebrate Yuletide, and Winry’s baking a fruitcake for everyone to eat after,” says Al.

Ed wrinkles his nose.  “Fruitcake, huh?”  Al falls into step behind him as they make their way upstairs.  “I forgot the school does that.  Seems like ages since I even thought about Yule.” 

“We were pretty busy for a while there,” agrees Al.  “It’ll be nice to do something normal like celebrate Yule, though.  Winry’s got a ton of plans.”

Ed hums, then opens the door to his and Winry’s bedroom.  Al hovers just outside of the door, not quite comfortable entering his brother’s pre-marital bedroom.  Ed drops the suitcase on the floor, then walks back out, flexing his fingers and rolling his neck.

“Aren’t you unpacking?” asks Al.

Ed shrugs.  “I’ll do it later.”

Al says nothing, but Ed can tell he doesn’t approve. 

They walk into the kitchen together, where Winry is elbow deep in fruity cake batter. 

“Did you lose the spoon?” asks Ed.

Winry turns, flour covering her nose and chin.  “Hi, Ed,” she says with a smile, then turns back to her cake mixture.  “Inge at the school can’t eat eggs, and I just. Can’t. Get. The. Right. Consistency.”  She pummels at the batter, punctuating each word.

“Oh,” says Ed, still not quite understanding why she isn’t using a spoon.  He opens the refrigerator, looking for anything that might tide him over until the end of Winry’s culinary ordeal.

“There’s a plate of sandwiches on the top shelf,” says Winry.  “Share them with Al.”

Ed takes the plate eagerly and makes his way over to the table, already unwrapping the covering.  He stuffs a triangle into his mouth without looking at the filling and sits down, pushing the plate in Al’s direction.  Al takes his sandwich a great deal more demurely, nibbling at the crusts before taking bites of the actual sandwich.

Already feeling better, Ed sits back in the chair.  “So,” he says around a mouthful of cheese and pickle, “you’re really going all out this Yule, huh?”

“Eat first, then speak,” says Winry between slaps of batter.

Al smiles.  “We just haven’t celebrated in so long,” he says.

“I guess,” Ed shrugs.  “What kind of celebrating do you want to do?”

Al’s eyes flick up to Winry, who turns to look at Ed, elbow-deep in batter.  “We’re holding a party,” she says.  “It won’t be anything too big.”

Ed shrugs again.  “As long as it isn’t.”

*

By the end of the week, it’s clear that the party is going to be much bigger than Ed had ever anticipated.  Winry spends evenings lying beside him in bed making shopping lists and guest lists, and Al has begun to decorate the house in increments, starting with pinecones that seem to materialise out of nowhere and create trip hazards.  The whole spectacle sends Ed’s head swirling, but it makes Al and Winry happy, so he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he takes the train out to East City and braves the cold, telling Al and Winry that he has some business to take care of.  It’s not a lie – he wants to buy gifts for them, and Resembool is useless for any gifts that aren’t haybales and chicken feed. 

His train pulls into the station, and he stands, stretching his back with a few satisfying clicks.  He makes his way off the train with an empty trunk and scans the platform.  Finally, he spots the figure he’s looking for.

“Lieutenant,” he says, making his way up to Hawkeye with bright eyes.

She gives him a warm smile in return.  “It’s good to see you, Ed.”

Ed grins.  “You too!  Thanks for agreeing to help me out with this.”

“It’s not a problem,” she says.  “I have my own shopping to do, after all.  Now, where first?”

Ed and Hawkeye step out into East City, sticking together to navigate the bustling crowds.  Ed has no idea where to start, only that he doesn’t think Winry needs a new set of earrings, so he lets Hawkeye lead the way into a bookstore.  It’s a wide, musty building with high ceilings and wooden floors.  The entire space is lined with tomes, and Ed turns to Hawkeye, eyes wide.

“This is…” 

“East City’s best kept secret,” says Hawkeye.  “I was going to buy the Colonel a planner for next year here.”

Ed’s mouth morphs into a very round ‘o’ as he takes in his surroundings.  This must have something for Al, he thinks, as Hawkeye makes a beeline for the planners.  Not a novel or a textbook – he isn’t sure what Al’s personal library looks like, but he’s certain he doesn’t need to add to it.

He’s still wandering around helplessly when he spots a shelf full of blank notebooks.  He’s drawn to one with a brown leather sleeve and unruled pages.  He runs his finger over the spine and flips through it.  It’s unremarkable, he thinks, and not special at all.

“Ed?” Hawkeye walks up behind him, and he startles.  “Is that for Al?”

“Maybe,” says Ed unhappily.  “He uses a lot of notebooks, but it just seems like such a boring gift.  I mean, he filled up his notebook of food he wanted to try when he…”  Ed’s eyes widen.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Yeah, this one’s for Al.”

They pay, and Hawkeye leads him to a riding store.  She muses over riding crops before finally picking out a single horseshoe, and Ed can’t think of who on earth it could be for.  Staring at a pair of thick leather gloves, Ed thinks of Hawkeye herself.  He gives the room a quick scan and – when he’s sure she’s completely absorbed by different horseshoes, he pays for them and slips them into his trunk alongside the notebook.

He waits for her outside, digging his free hand into his coat pocket against the cold.  “Where next?” he asks, a grin plastered on his face.

She eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t press.  “I wanted to have a look at some electronics,” she says.  “Fuery’s radio is running out of steam.”

By the time four o’clock rolls around, East City is beginning to darken, and Ed doesn’t have a gift for Winry.

“We can try the jeweller’s,” says Hawkeye.  “I need to get something for Rebecca.”

“Right,” says Ed, banking on the jeweller being his best option.

This is not the first time Ed has been inside a jeweller’s, but it is the first time he has truly felt damned by the fact that the most valuable asset of a jeweller’s display is bits of metal and stone.  He looks up at Hawkeye, feeling nervous and desperate.  She squeezes his shoulder and wanders off to look at a small display of lockets, leaving Ed alone and anxious. 

A young woman swans over to him.  “Hi!” she chirps.  “Can I help?  You look lost.”

For a moment, Ed is ready to reject her help.  Hawkeye is still across the room, though, so he lets out a deep sigh.  “Sure,” he says.  “I’m looking to get something for my fiancée.” 

The woman holds a finger to her lips in thought.  “Does she have pierced ears?”

Ed jolts.  “No earrings!” he says, a little too quickly.  “I’ve bought her a lot over the years.” 

The woman tilts her head.  “Alright,” she says.  “What’s her birthstone?”

Ed blinks.  “Her what?”

“Her _birthstone_ ,” says the woman like it’s obvious.  “When’s her birthday? It’ll bring her luck to wear her birthstone.”

“No, it won’t,” says Ed.  He’s not going to get Winry some pseudo-scientific namby-pamby charm for more than his automail is worth.  He sighs.  “Maybe you can’t help me,” he says.

The woman shrugs.  “I’ll be over there if you need me,” she says.

Ed is sure he won’t.  Alone and surrounded by metal, he gravitates towards a display of drill-shaped bracelets and necklaces with skull charms.  They’re fashionable, Ed thinks, as his hand gravitates towards a particularly intricate skull with sharp eyebrows.

“No,” comes Hawkeye’s voice from across the store, and Ed lets his hand swing uselessly at his side.  He’s got nothing.

Hawkeye sidles up behind him with her own paper giftbag.  “You know,” she says, “I grew my hair out after meeting Winry.  I thought it looked nice.”

Ed stares up at her.  “Should I get her a… haircut?”

Hawkeye frowns.  “No, I don’t think so.”  Her eyes shift towards a display of barrettes.

Oh.  That’s what she means. 

*

Ed falls into bed sure he’ll sleep well.  Two long train journeys and a full day of shopping will do that for a person.  There’s a low, slow ache at his automail joint, but he falls asleep before he can register it’s there. 

He wakes up the morning before the day of the party with the same low ache thrumming through his thigh.  Winry rolls over next to him, narrowly missing his head with her elbow as she throws her arm across his pillow.  She smiles sleepily.

“It snowed last night,” she says.

Ed grunts and stumps over to the window.  She’s right, of course.  Resembool is covered in two inches of snow, as if to hail the arrival of the cold.  He whines and falls back into bed.

“Not enthused, huh?” remarks Winry.

“Mmpf,” says Ed, and rolls away from her.

She prods the back of his head with her finger.  “Nope,” she says.  “We’re awake, now.  We’re up.”

Ed groans and slides out of the bed in what is a concerted full-body effort, finally thudding down on the floor.  “I’m up,” he says, and waves a hand demonstratively. 

“C’mon,” says Winry, a poorly-disguised laugh in her voice.  “I’ll make us breakfast.  Eggs?”

“Alright,” says Ed, and reluctantly extricates his arms from each other. 

He follows Winry down into the kitchen, noting with a wince that his leg is worse with weightbearing.  Al is already downstairs, nursing a mug of tea.  “Hi, brother!” he says brightly.

Ed gives a mumbling response and slumps onto the seat opposite him.  He buries his head in his arms. 

Al chuckles.  “Slow start?”

“Mm,” grunts Ed.

“Understatement,” says Winry, and Ed hears the familiar clink of the kettle settling atop the stove.  “Tea or coffee?” she asks.

“Coffee.”

Ed lifts his head when he hears a mug set down on the table.  “Thanks.”  He begins nursing it, taking a sip immediately against Al and Winry’s warnings that it’s just come off the stove.  It burns his tongue and slides bitterly down his throat.  He opens and closes his mouth, trying in vain to relieve the burning sensation.

“I told you,” says Winry.

Al giggles behind his hand.  “Oh, brother,” he says sympathetically. 

“I thought it would wake me up,” defends Ed.

Al tilts his head.  “Did it?” 

In truth, it _did_ wake him up, but Ed does not want a future of Al burning off the palate he’d worked so hard for.  “No,” he lies.

Eggs appear in front of him, then, and Ed digs in.  Al and Winry are still halfway through their plates when Ed finishes.  He takes his plate and the empty mugs and starts washing up, trying to keep the weight off his automail. 

When Winry appears beside him and plops her plate into the sink, she gives him a suspicious look.  Ed doesn’t say anything, but a hot-water bottle appears on the counter two minutes later anyway.  He nods and dries the final plate. 

The last of the party preparations begin after that, and the entire Elric-Rockbell posse is swept into hanging decorations and making food.  The hot water bottle lies abandoned on the counter, and Ed scarcely has time to down some painkillers before he is also thrown into the preparations.  He sleeps well, that night.

*

The day of the party is hailed in by a concerted throb in Ed’s leg and Winry’s stress over a plate of souffles which did not rise properly overnight.

 

The doorbell rings aptly at 6:57 in the evening, and Winry rushes to greet their first guest.  It’s one of the women from the neighbourhood – an old friend from school, Ed thinks, though he doesn’t remember Winry having any friends except him and Al.

 

“It’s great to see you again, Ed!” says the girl, cheeks whipped pink from the cold.

 

“Yeah,” says Ed.  “You, too…”  He trails off.

 

“Bess,” Winry whispers in his ear, then moves behind Bess to take her coat.

 

“Good to see you too, Beth,” says Ed.

 

Winry gives a loud, fake laugh then.  “He never did get rid of that lisp completely, did he?”

 

Ed frowns.  He’d never had a lisp, and he looks in Winry’s direction to tell her that, but she’s stretching her lips wide and glancing her tongue against her teeth.  _Oh_.  “Still working on it, Bess,” he says.

 

People begin to trickle in steadily after that, and Ed finds that he doesn’t recognise a great many of the faces.  It is a relief when at 7:00 exactly, Hawkeye steps onto their threshold with a smile and a bag full to bursting. 

 

“It’s good to see you all,” she says, and draws Winry into a hug.  She smiles at Ed over Winry’s shoulder, and he returns it.  She draws away from Winry, holding her by the shoulders and looking her up and down.  “You look well,” she says.  “The Colonel will be here shortly, he got held up on his way out of the station.”

 

Ed smirks.  “Saved his shopping until the last minute, did he?”

 

“Something like that,” says Hawkeye, scanning the room.  She finds the corner containing people’s bags and sets her own down amongst the others, then begins to mingle with people she’s never met in a way that makes Ed extremely jealous.

 

True to Hawkeye’s word, Mustang arrives precisely 15 minutes late.  “It’s great to see you, Colonel Mustang,” says Winry, business-like as he steps over the threshold.  Mustang gives one of those smiles he reserves only for people he really wants to impress and people he loathes.  It’s the former, Ed knows, because Mustang knows that if it was the latter, Ed would have incited retribution by now.

 

“FullMetal,” Mustang booms in that way that infuriates Ed to know end, because it isn’t actually loud, just arrogant.

 

“You wish,” Ed snorts.  “I don’t work for you anymore.”

 

“Okay,” says Mustang, then pauses for no longer than a beat.  “I guess I’ll go back to calling you what I called you before you enlisted.”

 

“Which is?” demands Ed.

 

“A brat.”

 

Ed sputters, and it is only a warning glare from Winry which stops him from flying off the handle.  Instead, he gives Mustang his fakest, most simpering smile.  “I’ll take your coat, then, shall I?”

 

Mustang gives him a suspicious look, but hands his coat over to Ed.  Ed takes it through to the laundry room, and he doesn’t do anything with it, not really.  Taking Mustang’s keys off their ring and redistributing them through every pocket in the coat doesn’t count as property damage, so it isn’t a serious issue.

 

More people have filtered through the doors when Ed returns to the living room.  He doesn’t recognise any of them.  He slinks over to Winry and grimaces. 

 

“Who _are_ these people?” he asks.

 

Winry tilts her head and begins gesturing to people.  “Well, you met Beth, and there’s Andrea from the farm, Inigo from the grocery store, and that’s the mayor.”

 

Ed frowns.  “He doesn’t _look_ like the mayor.”

 

“Yes, well,” says Winry breezily, “he’s using his special occasions toupee today.”

 

There’s another knock at the door, and they both jump.  This time, Ed recognises the figures.  “Hey, brother!” says Al.  “I collected Mei from the station, and we bumped into teacher on the way back here!”

 

Ed blinks, then smiles.  “It’s good to see you,” he says to Izumi and Sig.  He turns to Mei, looking down very obviously.  “And you, I guess.”

 

Izumi gives him a sharp look.  “I thought we taught you about being polite,” she growls.

 

Ed blinks, then turns back to Mei.  “I was just joking,” he says very quickly, and in a very high voice.  “It really is good to see you.  Thanks for saving my life a few times.”

 

Mei tightens her lips.  “I don’t care about that,” she says, and draws herself up to height, “but I’ve grown three inches, so don’t look down like that.”

 

Noting Izumi watching him with narrow eyes, Ed swallows back a remark about how she’s _still_ tiny.  “Right,” he says instead.

 

“Come on, shorty,” says Izumi.  “I’ve got to talk to you about something.” 

 

Ed leads her into the kitchen and pretends not to be nervous about the looming discussion.  “Can I take your coat?” he asks, remembering himself.

 

Izumi waves a hand.  “I’ll deal with it later, sit down.”

 

Ed does, wondering what in the world is so terrible that _teacher_ is telling him to sit down.

 

She leans on the table next to him and sighs.  “You look a little pale, Ed.  Are you alright?”

 

Ed nearly splutters.  That was not the exchange he was expecting.  “Sure, I am!” says Ed cheerily.  “Must be the light!”

 

Izumi narrows her eyes at him.  “Is that a lie?” 

 

Ed remains silent for a moment.  “Will you be worried if I say it’s not?”

 

“No,” she says.  “I’ll believe you, but I’ll be upset if you say it isn’t a lie and then you collapse.”

 

Ed sighs and rubs his temples.  “It’s just the cold and my automail,” he says.  “Nothing new.”

 

Izumi gives a deep sigh and squeezes his shoulder.  “Alright,” she says.  “Don’t let it get too bad.”

 

*

 

It doesn’t get too bad for nearly two hours, during which time Ed does all the requisite activities, chiefly mingling and pretending to know people who know him.  He’s off in a corner with Havoc, who is leaning heavily on his cane and insisting he doesn’t need to sit down, when his leg spasms.

 

He shuts his eyes tightly.  “ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, and breathes deeply until the pain passes.  When he opens his eyes, Havoc is giving him one of the concerned stares usually reserved for when one of his team is injured and pushing it.

 

“You okay?” he asks.

 

Ed plasters a smile onto his face.  “Nothing I can’t handle!” he declares a little too loudly.

 

Havoc frowns.  “Doesn’t look like that,” he says.  “Maybe you should sit down or call it a night.”

 

Ed shakes his head.  “No,” he says.  “Al and Winry have been excited about this and I won’t ruin it for them.”

 

Havoc opens his mouth, but Ed meets him a fiery stare, and he doesn’t vocalise further.

 

*

 

It is to Ed’s own detriment that he doesn’t follow Havoc’s advice.  He’s standing in the kitchen where the oven is heating up yet more hors d’oeuvres and keeping the kitchen warm, chatting to Al and Paninya about watch theft and petty morality when another spasm hits him and his leg buckles.  He fixes himself against the countertop, grimacing as Al comes to his side and slings an arm over his shoulder and Paninya starts feeling his cheeks and his forehead.

 

It is just his luck that Mustang chooses that very moment to stalk in.  “Hey, Ed,” he booms, “Miss Rockbell asked me to…”  He stops.  “Oh.”

 

Ed glares up at him.

 

Mustang blinks, gawping.  “I’ll go get… yeah.”

 

“No,” says Al, stopping him.  “ _I’ll_ go get Winry.  She knows me best.  You stay here with Ed until we’re back.”

 

Paninya drifts after Al, and Mustang takes Al’s place beside Ed.  “Do you need to sit?” he asks.

 

“Can’t move yet,” grinds out Ed.

 

Mustang stands there dumbly for a second.  “Well, can I do any…”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” declares Ed.  “Shit, ass, fucker, twat, _piss_.” 

 

Mustang widens his arms, looking as alarmed as Ed has ever seen him, barring the time he went blind.  “Y – are you…”

 

Ed grips Mustang’s arms.  “Thank you,” he says, “for being here so that I didn’t do that in front of Al.”

 

“Right,” says Mustang awkwardly.  “You’re, um – you’re welcome.”

 

*

 

Winry swoops in after that and sweeps Ed off to bed with a hot water bottle and a dose of prescription medication.  He spends the next hour and a half lying in bed, wishing he could just tune out and come back to himself in a week.  He can’t, though, so he settles for gritting his teeth through the pain.  Winry comes back twice to make sure the water bottle is still hot, and Ed is almost certain that she doesn’t really need to use the upstairs bathroom five times in one 90-minute period.

 

10 minutes after the hubbub downstairs dies down for good, four people traipse into Ed’s room.  He lifts himself up on his elbow.  “Hey,” he says to Winry and Al, then turns to Hawkeye and Mustang.  “What are you doing here?”

 

“We’re opening gifts,” says Winry and sits on the side of the bed while Al arranges three seats and tips a bag upside down so that the gifts inside drop out of it and onto the floor, then arranges several smaller piles at everyone’s feet.

 

They start almost immediately: Hawkeye opens her gloves from Ed, a chew-toy from Al (for Hayate), some simple earrings from Winry, and a book of quotes for ‘people who already have their lives together’ from Mustang.  She smiles around at them and gestures for Al to open his.

 

Al opens lots of books: cookbooks and textbooks and – finally – Ed’s journal.  He smiles at Ed.  “It isn’t much,” says Ed.  “But, um, you should open it.”

 

Al does, and his face lights up.  “Oh, Ed!” he says, and Ed shifts down awkwardly. 

 

“I just thought… you kept that journal of things you wanted to eat, and now you can eat again, so I thought you could document how you liked stuff.”

 

Al grins widely.  “It’s _perfect_ ,” he declares.

 

Mustang opens his lot next, sending a dry look in Hawkeye’s direction when he opens her planner, complete with his engagements for the month of January already written in. 

 

They come to Ed next.  He opens his gifts slowly, feeling uncomfortable with everyone watching him.  Hawkeye has given him a lint roller ‘to deal with his dog problem’ and a set of non-alchemical scientific journals, Mustang a pocket watch with no military adornments, Al a photo-album, and Winry a set of teas reserved for bad nights (though she doesn’t say that out loud).

 

They fall to Winry, finally, who opens her gifts carefully before coming to Ed’s.  She glances up at him and gives him a smile, and he looks away, suddenly feeling nervous.  “Oh,” she says in surprise. 

 

“I can take it back,” offers Ed.

 

“What?” says Winry, “no, Ed, it’s lovely.”  It’s a barrette, simple and silver, with a little blue stone in the middle.  “How did you think of it?”

 

Ed glances to Hawkeye.  “Hawkeye said she grew her hair after meeting you, and the shop assistant said to use your birthstone but the blue, um…” He blushes a deep red.  “The blue looked like it would match your eyes.”

 

Winry pulls him into a hug and gives a wet laugh.  “I always knew you were an old romantic,” she says.

 

Ed lets himself be drawn in, suddenly aware of how tired he is.  As he begins to fall into sleep, the thought strikes him that he’s safe among family, and he doesn’t even double-take that he’s said family, not friends.


End file.
